Not Afraid
by Garbage and City Lights
Summary: Closure to 'Isaac's Gatlin'. Set at the end of 666; Isaac's death is imminent, and he knows his hell-on-earth is about to become very real. Or is it? PG-13 for violence, angst, and death.


--Don't own the poem. I also don't own Isaac, 'Children of the Corn', or any related characters. I think this is finally closure for Isaac... after all, he deserves it, doesn't he?--  
  
_I shall not be afraid any more  
Either by night or day;  
What would it profit me to be afraid  
With you away?  
  
Now I am brave. In the dark night alone  
All through the house I go,  
Locking the doors and making windows fast  
When sharp winds blow.  
  
For there is only sorrow in my heart;  
There is no room for fear,  
But how I wish I were afraid again,  
My dear, my dear!  
  
--_Aline Kilmer  
  
He had been expecting it for the past three minutes.  
  
As soon as Gabriel entered, Isaac had known his fate was sealed. The prophecy said nothing of such an intrusion, and there was something dark in Gabriel's eyes... something dark and frightening. Nevertheless, Isaac had stood his ground.  
"You defied me," he had said through clenched teeth. Gabriel began to circle him, a vulture eyeing its prey.  
"You denied my birthright." The words were quiet, the venom behind them clear as crystal. Isaac stared back steadily, but he had already started to feel small and weak.  
"Liar," he hissed.  
"Am I, Isaac?" Gabriel asked darkly, and continued to circle. "Aren't I the firstborn? You rejected me so that your son could take my place." Isaac clenched his hands. This was going too far.  
"Enough!" he commanded, but Gabriel had no intention of stopping. He leaned close to Isaac's face, still circling threateningly.  
"How _dare _you castrate my words, you fuck!" My words. That was what he had said. But Isaac had not been paying attention; he only heard the insubordination, the disrespect, the pure blasphemy in Gabriel's voice. He hadn't heard the crucial hint: he'd had enough.  
_"I AM THE GIVER OF HIS WORD!" _he screamed, jabbing a finger at the young man. Gabriel's loose, threatening circle had gotten tighter and faster until he was circling madly, so fast that Isaac had to continually turn to see his face.  
_"First son and first daughter was MY prophecy, and it was fulfilled!" _He made a crude motion with his hands, finger through circled thumb and forefinger, then finally stopped circling and turned to Hannah. With one swift motion of his foot, he'd slid the evil-looking farm tool towards her. It was then it hit Isaac, so strong and hard he'd almost staggered with the realization. It wasn't Gabriel. It was He Who Walks Behind The Rows.  
  
And he was going to die.  
  
A few short minutes later, things had gone straight to Hell. All his plans were for nothing. Gabriel had revealed himself to be the monster he was; with a swift movement of his hands, Isaac had been thrown back to the ground, steel posts piercing the soft flesh of his palms. It hurt, oh it hurt, but he didn't cry out. It was what He wanted.  
"Not afraid to die, are you Isaac?" Gabriel had asked pleasantly. When Isaac didn't answer, he'd smiled and chuckled darkly. _"Oh _yeah, _that's _right. _You've _got faith." Then he'd broken the steel pipe in two -- clean in two, with his bare hands! -- and readied it like a javelin. Isaac felt his heartbeat quicken. _No, _his mind shrieked. _No, this isn't right, the prophecy, the prophecy... _ Somewhere behind him, Hannah whispered,  
"We have to end this." But Isaac knew very well who was going to end it.  
"Thanks for playing," Gabriel murmured. "We've got some lovely parting gifts for you." _THE PROPHECY! _Isaac's mind screamed. And he'd dropped the pipe.  
  
Now Isaac braced himself, squeezing his eyes shut to block out the image, but nothing could prepare him for the pain. The sharp, jagged metal pierced his skin, his chest, his heart -- the heart he'd found no use for since twenty years ago. His eyes shot open to see the horrifying image, the pipe buried in his chest. He gasped, but it was a small, strangled sound. Something wet was spreading across his shirt.  
(blood it's blood it's _my _blood)  
He opened his mouth to scream, but nothing came out.  
(oh god blood _my _blood on _my _face)  
Isaac could hear Gabriel chuckling above him.  
(but the prophecy what about the prophecy)  
Someone gasped; he thought it was Rachel. Had it really surprised her? Well, not Isaac. He hadn't been afraid. He knew what was coming. Then why did he feel so afraid now?  
(coma am I going into another coma)  
Isaac felt the wetness spread behind his head, and realized with faint disgust that he was lying in a small pool of his own blood.  
(blood)  
He wondered, quite suddenly, if this was how it had been for Rebekah.  
(rebekah?)  
Gabriel still floated above him, chuckling darkly, but soon he disappeared. Isaac's vision hazed into a deep scarlet, and finally faded to black.  
  
He opened his eyes slowly. Isaac's first thought was that the pain was gone, the pain and the blood; but he wasn't sure why. His eyes flicked around quickly. Wherever he was was made of gray mists and smoke that shifted threateningly, curling away into darkness. Then, quite suddenly, there was a voice.  
  
"State your case."  
  
Isaac swallowed nervously. There was no one around that he could see; the smoke masked anyone who might've been there, and he didn't like that.  
"What?" he asked confusedly. The voice repeated itself, mechanical and impassive.  
"State your case." Isaac rubbed at his arm uncomfortably and noticed in surprise that his hands were no longer old.  
"I... I'm not sure what you're talking about." He felt watched and scrutinized; he decided that he didn't like this place. The voice repeated itself a third time.  
"State your case."  
"What case?" Isaac cried, and was embarrassed to hear the panic in his voice. This time, the message was different, but only slightly.  
"You are here to be judged. Before the courts of Heaven and Hell, you are being tried for your acts on Earth." It said for a fourth time, "State your case." Isaac shifted back and forth, looking for any signs of life in the silvery fog.  
"Before the courts of Heaven and Hell?" he mumbled, and let out a soft sound of frustration. "I don't know what's going on!" There was a long pause. He thought he caught some murmurs through the mist.  
"Fatal penetration by an iron rod. Circulation system destroyed, internal and external bleeding evident. Time of death, 12:15 and 32 seconds." Isaac suddenly remembered -- oh, _yes _-- what had happened in the hospital basement. He touched his chest lightly and cringed.  
"Fatal penetration," he repeated. And then he blinked. "Before the courts of Heaven and Hell," Isaac murmured, moving his fingers over where his heart had been. "Am I... on trial?"  
"State your case," the voice said again.  
  
His throat tightened.  
"Isaac Chroner," he mumbled, embarrassed to hear his voice shaking. "I -- I am the leader of the Children in Gatlin, Nebraska." There was another long pause; Isaac lowered his head to stare at his shoes. His words had made it sound innocent, and he knew it was anything but. _I'm in Purgatory, _he thought drily, then smirked. _Imagine that._  
"Isaac Chroner," the voice repeated. "You are charged with one count of dishonoring thy father and mother. One count of honoring a false god. One count of bearing false witness against thy neighbor. One count of blaspheming the Sabbath. And 227 counts of murder." Isaac blinked in surprise at the last charge. He had known there were many adults, but he had never heard the exact number. "How do you plead?" asked the voice, breaking his thoughts.  
"I --" Isaac swallowed, trying to force his narrow throat to open. "-- I -- guilty," he admitted, and lowered his head enough to touch his chin to his chest. Another pause.  
"Isaac Chroner," the voice continued, "you have been charged of the murder of 227 persons. Sarah Chroner. Richard Deigan. Mary Bradford. Timothy Mullins." Isaac wasn't sure what was going on at first; at last, he realized. It was reading off his counts of murder.  
"Stop," he protested weakly. He didn't want to hear the names.  
"Craig Boardman. Johnathan Kielar. Miranda Strain. Deanna Skinner." The voice went on relentlessly, mechanical and expressionless. "Daniel Way. Bethany Simon. Joshua Nurdick. Kirsten McDaniels."  
_"Stop," _Isaac said again, placing his hands slowly over his ears. Oh, he had no _idea _how many people there had been...  
"Shelby Lauer. Ryan Harrisson. Jacob Hatfield. Ellen Balding." The last name made his chest burn; Isaac bit back a hard sob and clamped his hands down on his ears.  
_"Stop!" _he cried, and at last the voice fell silent. But only for a moment.  
"Please state to the court your reasons for acceptance into the Kingdom of God." Isaac waited until he was sure that opening his mouth wouldn't release a sob.  
"I know I'm not going to be allowed into Heaven," he said softly, removing his hands from his ears. "Why don't we just get it over with and send me to Hell where I belong?" There was a short pause; the smoke thinned slightly, and Isaac could barely see the silhouette of hundreds of people.  
"Please state to the court your reasons for acceptance into the Kingdom of God." He scowled in frustration. Why was it playing such games with him?  
"I know I'm not getting into Heaven!" he cried in distress, looking for someone to direct his shout at. "Stop tormenting me and just--"  
"Please state to the court your reasons for acceptance into the Kingdom of God." Isaac let out a shaky sigh. It wasn't going to stop.  
"I do not deserve Heaven," he said softly, but continued anyway. "I was deceived by a false prophet," Isaac murmured, choosing his words carefully. "A false prophet who I believed to be God. He told me his name was He Who Walks Behind The Rows, and that the adults had poisoned the land and the corn. That they must be punished, and that their blood must be spilt to nourish the corn." He took another deep breath and went on. "I did as the false prophet asked, unwillingly, yet I am forever ashamed and repulsed by it. I ask forgiveness in the eyes of God, and in the eyes of His Kingdom." Finished, Isaac lowered his head. He knew it would do no good. There was another long pause.  
"Isaac Chroner," the voice said for a countless time, "if your reasons were to be taken into consideration, your charge would be diminished to one count of accessory to murder." Isaac frowned a little, but the voice continued. "One count of accessory to the murder of Ellen Balding." His heart sank to his stomach. Need they remind him of it?  
"Yes," he whispered. "I know." The voice went on relentlessly.  
"The count of accessory to the murder of Ellen Balding is unrelated to the 'false prophet' you speak of. Craig Boardman has been previously tried for the murder of Ellen Balding and found guilty." _Good for him, _Isaac thought bitterly. "Also, there is no proof of unwilling acceptance of the 'false prophet's' requests. Therefore, the court must deny your entry into Heaven." He lowered his chin to his chest again. It had been expected, just as his death had been, and so he wasn't afraid. At least, that's what Isaac told himself.  
"Yes," he murmured. "I understand."  
"Unless," the voice said unexpectedly, "there is someone to speak for you." Isaac paused, then laughed drily.  
"There is no one to speak for me." He smirked down at the ground. "Everyone knows what I did, and none of them care if I get into Heaven or if I burn on the lake of fire for all eternity." Another long period of silence.  
"If there is no one to speak for you, the court has no choice but to condemn you to Hell." Isaac swallowed, then allowed a thin smile.  
"Oh, don't worry," he murmured, watching his shoes carefully. "I'm not afraid." The voice was quiet for a moment.  
"Isaac Chroner, you have been found guilty of the charges brought against you. The court sentences you to--"  
"No, wait!" Another voice interrupted the first, and Isaac stiffened. Was it...? Was it really? No. Certainly not.  
"State your case," the voice said automatically.  
"No, no, I'm not here for judgement," said the other, the sound drifting eerily through the fog. "I'm here to speak for him." Isaac felt his legs grow shaky.  
"Rebekah?" he asked weakly.  
"Ellen Balding, please present to the court your reasons for Isaac Chroner's acceptance into the Kingdom of God." There was a pause.  
"Okay. Um. Just a second, let me gather my thoughts." Isaac looked around wildly. Oh, yes, it was her. But why?  
"Rebekah?" he murmured again.  
"On the charge of 226 counts of murder," Rebekah said suddenly, sounding much more composed and eloquent, "and the count of dishonoring thy father and mother, as well as blaspheming the Sabbath, I would like to testify and say that Isaac is telling the truth." There was a pause.  
"Continue," said the voice.  
"The devil he speaks of is real. He is a demon, a demon who lives in the cornfield, and he did order the children to kill their parents and cleanse the earth of their poison. Isaac was just misfortunate enough to be the demon's puppet." Rebekah paused. "He is innocent of the charges brought against him, because he was merely a naive child following who he believed to be God." Isaac looked around wildly. She had to be there _somewhere..._  
"Rebekah!" he cried.  
"Your words are kind," said the voice mechanically, "but the charges are--"  
" 'And the devil that deceived them was cast into the lake of fire and brimstone,' " Rebekah's voice murmured, " 'where the beast and the false prophet are, and shall be tormented, day and night, forever and ever.' " She paused. "Revelation, 20:10." There was a long pause before the voice spoke again, sounding vaguely reluctant.  
"Because Ellen Balding has spoken for you, your previous charges have been dropped." Isaac was barely listening; he felt a faint wave of relief, but he was still trying to find Rebekah. He could hear her, she was _so close..._ "But there is still one count of accessory to murder."  
"What?" Isaac's attention was brought back to the voice.  
"One count of accessory to murder," said the voice, "the victim being the very one who speaks for you."  
  
Isaac put his hands over his eyes. He might've been exonerated of the other crimes, but this one would send him straight to Hell. He deserved it, at least -- and he wasn't afraid.  
"Isaac was not responsible for my death." Rebekah spoke quite suddenly, her tone gentle. "He gave innocent orders to the convicted Craig Boardman without intention of causing any harm." Isaac took a deep, shuddery breath in. This must be a dream.  
"Don't worry, Rebekah," he whispered. "I'm going to Hell, but I'm not afraid." There was no response; the voice spoke again.  
"What reason do you have to believe this?" it asked. Rebekah paused, then went on.  
"Because," she said softly, "I know that he truly loves me." Isaac's breath caught in his throat. Oh, _surely _this was a dream. "He would've rather died himself than cause my death. Again, Isaac is as much the victim as those he is charged of harming." Isaac felt his legs start to give way.  
"Rebekah!" he cried, whirling. "Rebekah, don't speak for me! I don't deserve it, I'm supposed to go to Hell, that's where I belong--"  
"Quiet," ordered the voice. "Isaac Chroner, because Ellen Balding has spoken for you, the court has made an exception. The court--"  
"No!" Isaac turned in a wild circle, trying to find someone, anyone. "No, I don't deserve to go to Heaven! I belong in Hell for all the pain I've caused! Rebekah, I--" His voice broke, but Isaac went on. "--I'm sorry, I'm so sorry for what I did. I never wanted to hurt you, and -- and I love you." He felt his face flush furiously hot, and Isaac lowered his head. There was a long period of silence.  
"Oh, Isaac," murmured Rebekah's voice.  
"Isaac Chroner," said the mechanical voice, "because of your heartfelt speech, you are exonerated of all charges brought against you. The court will allow you to enter Heaven." The smoke and mist began to curl away. Isaac shook his head slowly.  
"No," he said softly. "I'm not wanted there, I don't deserve it--"  
"The court has made its decision," the voice said, and fell silent. The smoke finally thinned, revealing a golden gate. Behind it, shadows shifted, but they weren't threatening. Isaac touched the gate lightly with his fingertips.  
"Don't deserve it," he murmured.  
"Isaac," whispered a voice behind him. Isaac whirled, hearing her and disbelieving immediately. It couldn't be her, not here, not so close...  
"Rebekah," he gasped, and threw his arms around her. Rebekah paused, then embraced him gently.  
"You're here at last." She pulled away slightly, smiling. "I was beginning to think you'd never get up here." Isaac shook his head slowly and leaned close. She was exactly the same, _exactly the same..._  
"Why did you speak for me?" he whispered. Rebekah smoothed his hair gently.  
"Because I've had quite a while to think about this, Isaac. I've watched you, watched you very carefully, and I've seen what He Who Walks Behind The Rows has done to you." She ran her hand soothingly over his hair again. "Your life was stolen to fulfill His plans. You deserve eternal life, Isaac, because your mortal one was unjustly taken." Rebekah hesitated, then pressed a light kiss against the side of his head. "Come home, Isaac. It's time." Isaac didn't lean away at first, for fear he'd lose her; at last, he drew back and smiled weakly.  
"Tell me this isn't a dream," he said softly.  
"Don't worry," Rebekah murmured, and smiled gently. "It's not a dream." She turned towards the gate, releasing him, and pressed her fingers lightly against one of the golden bars. The gate swung open. Rebekah walked through, then turned slowly back to Isaac and beckoned. "Don't be afraid," she whispered. Isaac hesitated. Finally, he reached forward and took her hand in his.  
"I'm not afraid," he said quietly.  
  
They went through the gate together.  
  
And at last, the prophecy was complete.  



End file.
